She raised her brows, hesitated, then inclined her head. “The promise of that will hold them for now.”

He sat back, lifted his wine glass, and sipped.

She glanced at him-and found herself trapped in his eyes.

For one long heartbeat, she stared into those tigerish orbs, then she hauled in a breath, wrenched her gaze away and looked across the table. “I-”

“We have to talk.” Beneath the table he closed his hand over hers where it lay in her lap, lifted it when she jumped, long fingers tensing, gripping when she would have twisted free.

Lungs tightening, she again met his eyes. “We are talking.” She clung to her mask, her social persona.

His lips curved, the light in his eyes one she’d never expected to encounter, certainly not about a crowded dinner table. Out of sight, his fingers stroked hers, a soothing touch that didn’t soothe her at all.

“Not about what I need to discuss with you.”

She arched a brow. “Oh? And what’s that?”

His smile widened. “I seriously doubt you want me to answer-not here, not now. Not in public.” He let a moment pass, then added, “Of course, if you insist…far be it from me to disoblige a lady.”

She jettisoned all notion of pretending disbelief; the threat in his words was proof enough of his fell intent.

Rescue came from an unexpected source. Lady Porthleven rose to her feet. “Come, ladies-let’s leave the gentlemen to their musings.”

Chairs scraped. Madeline seized the moment to lean nearer and murmur, “We don’t have anything to discuss, my lord-nothing that can’t be aired in a public forum.” She twisted her fingers and he let them go. She met his amber eyes. “There is nothing of a private nature between us.”

She turned from him and rose.

He rose, too, drawing back her chair.

Facing the door, her back to him, she stepped out from the table.

Into the hard palm he’d raised, ostensibly to steady her.

In reality to shake her.

He succeeded, his touch searing through layers of fine silk to set fires flickering on her skin.

She froze, her breath tangled in her throat.

He leaned close, his murmured words falling by her ear. “I believe you’ll discover you’re mistaken.”

She sucked in a breath, decided against any attempt to have the last word. Head rising, she plastered a smile on her face and walked forward, joining the exodus as the ladies left the room.


The gentlemen didn’t hurry back to the drawing room, for which Madeline gave fervent thanks. She spent the time ensuring she was adequately protected from whatever machinations or maneuverings her nemesis might employ.

Returning to the drawing room to find her wedged between Mrs. Juliard and Mrs. Entwhistle on one of the sofas, Gervase spent no more than an instant in appreciation of her strategy.

He was running out of time.

Not only had the gentlemen lingered over their port, reminiscing and swapping anecdotes, but a storm was blowing in. He’d felt the elemental change in the air long before he’d glimpsed the thickening clouds beyond the windows.

Until then he’d been content to let Madeline play her hand, but there was only one place at Porthleven Abbey where, during a dinner party, he could speak with her alone.

He needed to get her to himself before the storm hit.

Hanging back by the door, he waited until the other gentlemen had been absorbed into the various groups around the room, then strolled across the floor to halt before Madeline.

With an easy smile for Mrs. Juliard and Mrs. Entwhistle, leaning down he reached for Madeline’s hand-trapped it before she, lips parted in surprise, had a chance to pull back. “If you’ll excuse us, ladies, there’s an important matter I must lay before Madeline.”

Straightening, he drew smoothly on her hand; his smile changed tenor as he met her eyes. “It’s that matter I mentioned before.”

She all but gaped, but then her wide eyes searched his, confirming his determination-confirmed that he wasn’t in any way bluffing. “Ah…” She allowed him to draw her to her feet. “I…perhaps…”

He wound her arm in his, nodded politely to the other ladies, then steered her across the room.

She went with him, but…“This is ridiculous!” He stopped before a pair of French doors. She faced him as he released her arm. “We are not having any discussion-and certainly not here!”

His fingers locking about her hand, he met her gaze as he reached for the doorknob. “Half right.” Opening one door, he whisked her through, ignoring the squeak of surprise that escaped her.

Leaving the door open, he put a hand to her back and with barely any pressure kept her moving down the terrace.

They were nearly at the end-out of sight of anyone in the drawing room-when he halted and dropped his hand.

She swung to face him, every inch the Valkyrie, sparks lighting her darkened eyes. “What, precisely, are we doing here?”

Madeline used the tone guaranteed to quell every male she’d ever met. She pinned her tormentor with a fulminating glare-only to discover that neither tone nor glare seemed to have any effect whatever on him.

Worse, he was looking at her hair. The bane of her life, doubtless it had already started escaping from the knot at the back of her head.

But then his eyes shifted; there was just enough cloud-drenched moonlight for her to watch as his gaze slowly swept her face, lowered to linger on her lips, then, at last, returned to meet her eyes.

“We’re here”-his voice had lowered, deepened-“to face what must be faced.”

His amber gaze remained steady; his tone wasn’t forceful, yet neither did it carry any indication of softness. Of uncertainty.

She was reminded, yet again, that he was one of those rare males she couldn’t rule. Which left her with far fewer weapons to fall back on; anger and stubbornness seemed her best hope. She lifted her chin, held to her stony glare. “I have no idea what particular worm has infested your brain, but let me make one thing perfectly clear. I am not looking-”

“Precisely.” There was nothing-not the tiniest hint-of softness in the line of his lips, either. “That’s my point.”

She blinked. He continued, “I haven’t been looking, and neither have you.” He took a step closer. “And you still aren’t.”

Her entire vision was now filled with him.

But this was a side of him she hadn’t before seen, only sensed. She’d locked her curiosity safely away-or so she’d thought-but now it stirred, stretched, pressed forward to look.

She narrowed her eyes on his. “What am I supposed to be looking at?” She lifted her hands, palms up, to the sides. “What is there to see?”

His amber gaze didn’t waver. “Not to see.” Slowly, his gaze lowered to her lips. “To discover.”

His voice had dropped again, to an even deeper, more resonant note. Her lips throbbed; she could feel her own breath passing over them. And knew she had to ask. “What? What is there to find?”

She’d wanted, expected, the words to sound dismissive, derisory; instead, confusion and her damning curiosity colored them.

The heavens answered her. A deep rumble growled through the night, followed by a sharp crack as lightning split the sky. The first flare was followed by others, flashing behind the screen of the roiling clouds, a display of elemental energy.

The light lit his face, every chiseled angle, each rock-hard plane. Gave her fair warning when he moved closer yet, when he raised his large hands and framed her face.

Tipped it to his.

“This.” The word feathered through her mind, dark and tempting.

He bent his head; she was so tall he didn’t have to bend very far before his lips hovered over hers.

She drew in a breath, held it, every muscle tensed and quivering.

His lids lifted; his eyes trapped hers. “Don’t fight.” It was a warning. “Don’t try to break away.”

His lashes lowered as he closed the last inch. “Don’t try to pretend you don’t want to know.”

The last word was a seduction, a whisper staining her lips, a promise-one he instantly fulfilled.

His lips closed over hers, no light caress but a proper kiss-one she’d been waiting for all her life.

Or so it seemed. One part of her seized, grabbed, gloried.

The rest felt stunned, shaken out of her world and into some other.

She was kissing him back before she’d thought. Moving into him in the same instant his hands fell from her face and he reached for her.

Then she was in his arms, locked to him. His lips were hard, demanding; she parted hers, not to appease but to know. To discover. To see.

What she hadn’t imagined might be.

There was heat and sensation, from him, of him-and within her. Not fire, not true flame, but a warmth that was every bit as elemental, as potentially powerful, as tangible as the heavy muscles of his chest beneath her hands.

She sank against him, not because she was boneless, helpless, but because she wanted to.

And the heat merged, his and hers, and flowed about them.

His tongue swept her lower lip, then slid into her mouth, touched hers, and she shivered. Sank closer still, her hands fisting in his coat as she welcomed him in and he drank.

Strength surrounded her, to her more potent than any drug, one so few could give her. She counted the world well lost as he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her as if she were not just a drug but the breath of life to him.

He angled his head, deepened the kiss-and hunger burst through. Elemental, powerful, pure. His, hers-one fed the other, quickly escalating, with every heartbeat spiraling higher, spreading, out of control.

Until it roared through them, ravenous, greedy-insatiable.

Gervase had stopped thinking. In the instant she’d moved into his embrace, when his arms had closed about her and she’d offered her mouth, he’d stepped over some edge-into a world ruled by desire.

But not any simple desire he recognized. The heat was familiar, but every touch was heightened, every glow brighter, every aspect keener, deeper, broader, tighter-infinitely more compelling.

Infinitely more addictive.

He had to have more-and whatever he asked for she gave. Surrendered.

Her lips were his, her mouth, her body supple and curvaceous filling his arms.

Craccccckk!

They both jumped, clutched each other as their senses rushed back and the world returned.

Lightning forked down from the sky; a raking gust swept the terrace, hurling leaves stripped from nearby trees.

“Madeline? Gervase? Are you out there?” Lord Porthleven stood in the open French door, peering down the terrace.

Gervase drew a deep breath, felt his reeling head steady. The shadows hid them. “We’re here-watching the storm.”

“Ah.” Nodding, his lordship looked out at the sky. “Quite something, ain’t it? But you’d best come in-there’s rain on the way.”

Madeline had stepped back, out of his arms. Placing a hand under her elbow, Gervase turned and paced beside her as they strolled-nonchalantly-back along the terrace.

Other guests were pressed to the windows, staring out at nature’s show. Madeline paused before the French door.

Halting beside her, he glanced at the sky, then looked at her. “It’s…mesmerizing. Wild, exciting.”

She met his eyes. “And dangerous.”

Turning, she stepped through the door. He followed, fairly certain that, like him, she hadn’t been talking about the storm.


The following morning, Gervase sank into the leather chair behind the desk in his library-cum-study. Leaning back, raising his legs, he crossed his ankles, balancing one boot heel on the edge of the desk, and gave himself over to the latest reports his London agent had sent him.

Barely ten minutes had passed before the door opened.

“Miss Gascoigne, my lord.”

Surprised, Gervase looked up to see Sitwell step back from the open door, allowing Madeline to march into his library.

March, stalk, stride-definitely nothing so gentle as walk.

“Thank you, Sitwell.” With a crisp nod, she dismissed his butler.

Sitwell bowed, and glanced inquiringly at Gervase. At his nod, Sitwell slid from the room, closing the door.

Madeline halted midway across the room, tugging rather viciously at her gloves. She was wearing a carriage gown, not her riding dress; she must have driven over. She had to have set out-Gervase glanced at the clock on the mantel-immediately after breakfast.

Swinging his feet to the floor, he rose. “Perhaps the drawing room-”

“No.” She shot a frowning glance his way, her eyes the color of a storm-wracked sea. The recalcitrant button finally gave and she stripped off her gloves, then glanced around. “This is your lair, is it not?”